Island of Balamb
by Lord Seifer Almasy III
Summary: The enchanted story, how Balamb have survived on its terrible fate in the furture. mainly a seiftis pairing r&r uploaded
1. The Beginning

Title: Balamb Island

Author: Lord Seifer III and the_[a]colyte

Editor: the_[a]colyte

Disclaimer: We don't own Final Fantasy and its characters as well, so don't sue us! ^_^

Warning: Rating would increase in the later chapters.

**Chapter One: Scene 1**

**The beginning**

Balamb Island

The castle servants had warned him that he would pay for ignoring the girl. On the very night he tool possession of the ancient keep, the domestic prophets of doom surrounded him in the hallway. They assured him that the girl possessed some vague magical powers which she would use against him for turning her away.

"And what sort of magical powers might those be?" he had asked out of amused curiosity.

"She brings rainbows to the sky after a storm," the castle housekeeper said proudly.

The coachman nodded. "She causes flowers to bloom where nary a weed could grow before."

"Oh, my goodness," Seifer said, hiding a grin. "These are terrifying power, indeed. Is it safe to leave my room?"

"And she's under the protection of the sorceress Lady Edea, King Cid's own sister," a chamber maid piped in ominously.

"Not the same King Cid who lived in late times?" Seifer walked the small group of servants into the bronze umbrella stand, his voice rising. "Who probably never lived at all and, if he did live, would have banished the lot of you to the dungeons for aggravation?"

"The one and only King Cid," the housekeeper said, adding under her breath as she hid behind the coachman, "and old Raine Loire has had a vision that you and Miss Trepe are destined to marry."

"Marry?" Seifer muttered to himself as he waved the absurd little group away. 

"Now, _that_ is a terrifying thought."

Still inspiring his own brand of terror in the much-beloved Miss Trepe was probably what he needed to do to get rid of the girl once and for all. Ignoring her for a week obviously had not worked. In fact, the thunderous echo that resounded through the wall this very moment could have been caused by the brutal Atlantic-like beakers that pounded at the foundations of the castle. Or they could have been her again.

The persistent young woman had demanded, and been denied, an audience with him for more than a week.

Seifer "Hartstone", third Earl of Almasy, sat unmoving in his balloon-back chair, his brandy untouched. The coal fire highlighted the cynical humor on his angular face as passionate voices rose from the bailey. Ah, yes. One o'clock. His feminine tormentor had arrived right on time.

Foolish girl. Brave girl indeed to beard the lion in his den. It sounded from the fracas as if she had finally brought reinforcements to plead her case. Which, of course, was a waste of time. Seifer could not have helped her even had he so desired.

His lips curled at the corners as a man shouted, "Over my dead body! You are not to disturb his lordship!"

Irvine, his valet, buttler, and former butcher, was apparently losing his temper, which never boded well for the object of his annoyance. Under different circumstances, Seifer might have enjoyed watching the spectacle between the Titan and the infamous Miss Trepe. Ward would not raise a finger to the lady; one shake of his fist would probably send her scurrying.

A belch of thunder broke overhead, portending another storm. The waves below the cliffs threw white flecks of spume high against the mullioned windows. The room darkened.

Seifer put aside the letters of condolence he'd received at the same moment the door behind him flew open.

"My lord." Irvine's frame shook with indignation. "The tethers of my patience are stretched to the breaking point."

"Admittedly thin threads to begin with."

Irvine's cheek reddened. "The woman refused to take no for an answer."

"Until you escorted her back to the beach. In the most polite way possible, of course."

"She poked me, my lord."

Seifer sat forward, his face delighted. "She what?" 

"With an umbrella. In the---the hindquarters." clearly distraught, Irvine pressed his intimidating bulk against the door panels. "Prepare to defend yourself," he managed to shout seconds before a petite bundle of gray-blue muslin burst into the room. "We are _besieged."_

Besieged.

Seifer shot to his feet, frowning in displeasure at the intrusion. The bold invaders, three in all, stormed into the library, defiling his male sanctuary and mood of private mourning for his recently departed brother.

Actually, it was their female leader, face concealed by the intriguing shadows of a bonnet, who stormed the room. Her two male escorts more wisely crept behind her, darting apologetic glances his way. They, at least, possessed the sense to be afraid of him.

The young woman was either too spoiled or too thick headed to recognize her social limitations.

"Forgive us, my lord" the young man and the most serious of the intruders said.

The other man was rather younger than both of the first intruders. Tall, blonde haired, and blinking nervously behind blue-rimmed spectacles, he stammered a sheepish apology. "We shouldn't have come. We shall return at a better time---"

"Do be quiet, Zell." the young woman tapped her umbrella on the floor for emphasis. "He's intimidating you, and he hasn't said a single word. For all we know, we shall be warmly received."

"Leave."

Seifer pointed to the door, no hint of the hoped-for warmth of kindness on his lean face. "I do not have time for this nonsense." He peered into the shadowed cavern of her bonnet "Good-bye, Miss Treese."

"That is, Trepe, Lord Alamasy. Quistis Trepe."

He smiled coldly. "Almasy."

"Oh." She gave him an insincere smile. "Sorry."

"Sir Squall Leonhart." The young man extended his hand in a gesture so patiently that Seifer could hardly refuse. "An honor to meet you, my lord. A rare honor." 

"Zell Dincht." The slender man with ink-stained fingers turned from examining the watercolor on the wall. "At your service, my lord," he said, bowing.

Seifer nodded. "At any other time, I should be glad to receive you, but my day---my entire week---is filled with business."

"But that's why we've come," Quistis said exasperation. "On a business matter."

Then, with an ingenious flick of her hand, she pushed the bonnet down onto her nape, revealing herself with artlessness that was more disarming than a frontal attack.

His frown deepened as he stared at her. His thoughts seemed to collide one upon another like an avalanche of boulders at the bottom of a hill, faster than he could hold them at bay.

She was beautiful, he could not deny that.

Blue eyes that gazed at him with irresistible innocence and struck a chord in his distant memory. Chestnut-gold hair too heavy for the twisted knot at her nape. Features so clean and fragile she might have been carved from ice---if he breathed on her, would she melt, he wondered? Most alarming was the fact that she looked so familiar.

"Have we met?" he said in confusion.

She looked at him as if he were a bit of an idiot. "I just introduced myself a few moments ago. I have begged an audience with you every morning for a week and had been refused by Jack the Giant Killer at your door."

"Quistis." Her best friend gave a discreet cough. "The lordship is a busy man. Get to the point."

"There is no point." Seifer turned back to his desk , his voice unconcerned. "There is no pointing any of us wasting our time. I know what you want. It is impossible."

Quistis stared at him; heat rose to his neck at the intensity of emotion in her eyes. "Perhaps you knew my father Sir Alfred Trepe," she said. " He was a great scholar and antiquarian whose books a learned person such as yourself may even have in your library."

Quistis swept her umbrella across his desk in a burst of enthusiasm. "In fact, your own dear brother said he was reading one of father's books a fortnight before his tragic death."

Seifer swore softly, watching the bottle of ink she had knocked over saturate his letters. "_Damnation."_

"We are sorry about your brother, my lord," she whispered, staring in chagrin at the slow-moving stain in his desk as Zell rushed forward with his handkerchief to sop up the mess.

Seifer turned and tugged at the bell pull for his housekeeper. "I cannot help you, Miss Trepe. I understand why you are here. However, the contracts for the sale of the island have already been drawn up by an army of lawyers."

"Is your behavior not rather impulsive?" she said. "You have hardly left this castle since your arrival. Your brother adored Balamb."

His green eyes darkened in warning. "And perhaps if he had not secluded himself on this godforsaken pile of granite, investigating ridiculous phenomena such as mermaids, he would still be alive today." 

"he seemed happy here," she said in surprise. "Although I did not know him well, the islanders liked him very much, and I believe he would not have wanted even one stone to be removed from its place."

He gripped the back of his chair, assessing her face with a ruthless inquiry that would have reduced most men to powder. "My brother is gone. The sooner I am shed of this island, the better."

"How can you be so insensitive? There are entire families at stake."

"I don't need to explain my actions to you," he said in astonishment.

"I think you do," she said quietly.

The clatter of dishware from the doorway broke the dangerous silence that had fallen. Outside, even the storm seemed suspended as if nature held its breath, awaiting the outcome of a battle this bold girl could not win.

"You wished for tea for our guests, my lord?" Rinoa Heartilly, the castle's pretty brunette housekeeper entered the room with an approving smile, elbowing Seifer's brandy decanter aside on the table to lower her tray. "Scones fresh from the oven and clotted cream."

She cast a covert glance at Quistis, which Seifer interpreted to mean a plan was taking place.

"I did not ring for refreshments, Ms, Heartilly," he said. "I would like you to clean my desk. Our guests are not staying."

"Not staying? But how can they row back to the other side of the island in the rain, my lord?"

"The same way they rowed here, I imagine." He looked directly at Squall. "Please understand I am obligated to supervise certain improvements on the island. They were promised as a condition of the sale."

Squall moved to the door, frowning at his best friend. "Come, Quistis. We should perhaps have stated our case to his lordship in a letter."

Quistis refused to move. "If you sell balamb to a stranger, Lord Almasy, you are condemning the islanders to a fate as awful as the highland clearances."

Her eyes reminded him of oil upon the surface of the dark blue sea of balamb, changing with emotion. "The President of Esthar is hardly a monster. No one will be smoked out of a cottage or sent to Desert Prison."

"Lord Hartstone, or should I say The lord with the heart of stone," she said. "That is what you are called. I discounted the warnings. I did not believe it fair to judge you until we had met."

He laughed shortly. "One can hardly fend off progress with the umbrella."

"Perhaps not," she said, her eyes narrowing, "but one can certainly make a few good dents." 

"I can attest to the truth of that," Irvine muttered from the hall where he evidently stood eavesdropping.

Seifer had a sudden insane urge to scoop Quistis in his arms, drop her on the sofa, and---well, he refused to let his imagination go any farther. He was a gentleman, after all, even if this slip of a girl did arouse the barbaric undercurrents of behavior that lurked beneath the surface of every red-blooded male.

He gave her a stare designed to crush her spirit. "I have made a bargain, Miss Trepe." 

"With the devil, I do not doubt," she retorted.

"That is enough Quistis." Squall took firm hold of her arm, dragging her toward the door.

"I won't leave until he listens to me," she said, continuing to stare at Seifer as if she could not believe what an evil entity she had encountered.

"Then I shall leave," he said simply.

Silence fell as he moved past them. He wondered if she noticed that his way of walking was slightly uneven, and he wondered why he should care. Then he caught the faintest hint of lilies on her skin. The fragrance was so elusive he barely identified it as he glanced back at her.

Their eyes met. He thought for an instant she might bash him on the skull with her umbrella, the bent tip of which had no doubt left one of her aforementioned dents in Irvine's tough flesh.

But it was the shy-looking Zell who stopped him, with the most outrageous remark Seifer had ever heard.

"I—I should like to sketch you , my lord."

Seifer stilled. "Excuse me?"

Zell flushed. He still held one of Seifer's ink-stained letters in his hand while the housekeeper covertly cleaned up the mess on the desk. "I should like to sketch you in costume for a book I am illustrating, to be published at the beginning of next year. It is about the Legends of King Sephiroth, and their connection to Balamb island. Sir Alfred had almost completed it before his untimely death, and I w-would be honored to use you as a model."

"A sketch. Of me. I am flattered, Mr. Dincht," he said wryly. _Stunned _was more accurate. Having overcome a handicap in his childhood, Seifer did not think of himself as a handsome man, although women seemed to find him reasonably attractive. "But I hardly have the time, nor do I see myself in such a heroic role."

"I think you would make the perfect Sir Vincent, the mysterious knight of King Cid's court, for the book, my lord," Zell said. "you have the physique of a knight, and a face…a face that not only brings to mind a warrior but which reveals a remarkable depth of character."

"Oh, Zell," the girl said in an angry whisper. "you carry artistic obsession too far. How _could_ you? Besides," she added a little spitefully, "he would make a better Sephiroth than Vincent, and Vincent was fair."

Seifer almost laughed. He knew just enough of King Cid's Legends to remember that Sephiroth was the arch villain in the legend, the treasonous knight who had delivered a deathblow to the king.

"You are too kind, Mr. Dincht," he murmured, closing the door on the trio of apprehensive faces. "Far too kind."

________________________________________________________________________ 

**Chapter One: Scene 2**

The girl had made a muffled sound behind him, a combined huff of dismay, indignation, and disbelief. He had laughed then, chuckled all the way up the tower stairs to the battlements where he and Irvine stood in the rain for several minutes as the unsuccessful party took its leave.

"Why should I care what she thinks, Irvine?"

"You should not, my lord. Not a jot."

"I have only done what needed to be done, and the matter was decided a month ago."

"Indeed it was, my lord."

"Look at us, Irvine, standing here in the rain. Blast that silly creature for raking me over the coals of my own conscience when my motives are pure. I am not selling this damn island for profit."

"Of course, you are not, my lord."

Seifer frowned. His younger brother, Raijin, had died several months ago, leaving Balamb, a tiny isle off its coast, to Seifer. Raijin had fallen off a cliff one morning and drowned, presumably during his absurd search for mermaids. In Seifer's opinion, a man like Raijin, disabled by an army injury, should never have come to this wretched place to begin with, and the sooner it was sold, the better.

In fact, Seifer was amazed when he received the offer, ecstatic when discovered the buyer was an old acquaintance, the politically powerful President Loire, a master statesman. For two years, Seifer had been trying to find a political ally to ensure that that his child labor reform measures would be passed.

A deal was struck. Balamb would be sold to Loire in exchange for political support, and countless innocent children would be protected from inhumane conditions.

"Has the girl never been taught that one must make sacrifices for the greater good?" Seifer asked himself aloud. "Does she not understand that one does not always have a choice?"

This time, Irvine did not respond. He was too busy watching the sturdy rowboat that had just taken to the sea. A small cluster of servants also stood watching on the castle causeway. The girl in the bonnet bobbed up and down in the boat. Her profile seemed pure even at this distance.

Irvine lifted his spyglass. "The staff accused us of sending them to their deaths, my lord."

"The storm appears to be passing," Seifer said, secretly relieved that he could see a mass of thunderheads moving away from the castle. "they might have stayed in the drawing room until the rain stopped, I suppose."

"I suppose we could have suggested it, my lord."

Seifer looked at him. "Except that Jack the giant killer and Sephiroth the King Slayer could hardly be expected to play the perfect hosts."

"Still we would not want them to be drowned, my lord."

"No." Seifer murmured, "we would not."

The rain had died to a drizzling mist; the sea below still churned, the blue waves so glassy one could see the ocean bottom. Seifer gazed across the sea at the girl in the boat and felt a sudden stab of concern for her. Nuisance she might be, but he did not wish her harm.

Then, suddenly, she looked up at him. She looked at him, and the wind carried the scent of lilies, lilies and a rush of images from the past so poignant and overpowering that he felt himself carried away by their spell.

**Chapter One: Scene 3**

Children's voices clamored in his mind, excited and impatient with anticipation.

"Bring me a sword, Raijin! We're playing King Cid in the forest, and last one there has to be his dwarf."

He heard his brother Raijin's voice. "Well, wait for Seifer, you idiots. He can't go as fast as us."

"Do we have to bring him, Raijin? He's always falling down."

"We _have _to bring him. He's my brother." Then, in annoyed undertone, Raijin said, "Get up Seifer. Make an effort to climb over the wall. I'll push you from below."

"Just go, would you?" Seifer pressed his face into the dirt. "I don't want to play, anyway. There never was a King Cid, you know. It's a fairy tale for fools."

Raijin stared at him. "I am going to help you over the stile, but you have to climb the wall yourself."

"Go to the devil."

"Raijin! Raijin!" The other boys are calling him from the edge of the forest. "Your governess is coming---hide in the trees, or she'll take you in."

He waited until the other boys had vanished before he scaled the wall; flushed with victory, he dropped to the other side only to run three hobbled steps before he stumbled over a shovel.

He heard the boys laughing from the leafy depths of the forest, and he gritted his teeth. The new governess, a determined woman, was scaling the wall in her voluminous skirts to catch her charges.

His chest ached with the effort it took to hold back. He was nine years old, the eldest son, a weakling who suffered from a muscular myopathy which made playing sports such a painful challenge that his father has forbidden him to participate.

Most people thought that the earl had imposed this restriction because he did not wish his heir to suffer injury. The truth, as Seifer knew it, was that his father was ashamed of his son's clumsiness and contrived to keep him invisible as much as possible.

The governess had found him. He lay facedown in the grass, pretending to ignore her. Humiliation washed over him as he felt her hand on his shoulder. "You are not hurt, my lord."

Strange, only now in retrospect did he hear the words phrased as a statement, not a question.

He would die of embarrassment if she tried to help him up with the others watching. He scrambled to his feet, giving her an angry look.

Her gazed scanned the trees. "You're not going to play with your friends?"

"They're not my friends, and I don't want to play King Cid. It's a silly game. Her was no such person ."

She picked up a fallen branch from the grass. "Your sword my brave knight."

Her hair was hidden beneath a huge hat, and her eyes—had they been blue, or was he recalling that other girl's remarkable features to fill the gaps in memory?

"No governess stays with us for long," he said confidently, ignoring the proffered branch. "My mother is addicted to casino, and my father frightens them off with his temper."

"Your father is going away to conduct some business affairs in Deling city." Her voice was low, hypnotic almost. "He will be gone a long time, my lord, and during his absence you will grow up so strong he will not know you when he returns."

She had not put down the branch. Seifer wanted to hit her, or run away, but couldn't seem to move. "I'll never be strong. You---you're stupid!"

"You will practice swordplay and become the bravest knight in King Cid's court. It will be your solemn duty to defend the weak and protect the innocent. Always do what is right, young lord."

"Nobody wants to play with me except Raijin."

"You will practice with the fencing master who has been sent for this very morning."

She was mocking him, or she was mad. He took a stumbling step back. "Shall I knight you, young lord?" she asked. "Kneel then."

"Me—kneel before you? You're a servant." Yet when he took another halting step back, his hip locked, and he went down on one knee, blinking in disbelief. 

The branch touched his shoulder, and he felt a bolt of power go through him, of perhaps only his hope, that with a touch of a magic wand he would arise, whole and unafflicted with his disability, like the other boys who mocked him.

He lurched to his feet, filled with bitter disappointment to realize nothing had changed. He was still uncoordinated, half lame, so consumed with despair that he barely heard her speak.

"That was stupid." h whispered.

Only now did Seifer remember that the governess had left the scent of lilies in her wake. At the time, he had not cared. He'd wanted to shout at her that she was wrong; he would never be strong or ride into battle.

She left their Devon house three weeks later, and there was no time to wonder at her mysterious disappearance. 

The fencing master arrived the day she left, and the following week, the earl inexplicably employed a new groom, a half-gypsy former jockey from Winhill, who gave the boys riding lessons.

Over a time, while Seifer's mother languished on casino, he developed physical strength, but the change was so gradual that he barely noticed it.

Then, one day, he got into a fight with a boy who had blackened Raijin's eye, and his life changed.

"You almost killed him!" Raijin exclaimed as the other boys gather around the fallen bully in awestruck silence. Seifer cradled his aching wrist. He still walked with a hint of a limp, nothing would change that, but his shoulders and his chest had broadened, his face had matured. He stood a foot taller that the rest of them, and nobody could outride him, except Kiros, the half-gypsy groom, who congratulated him after the fight.

Seifer had not heard from the governess once in all those years. Not when his parents had died and he had inherited the earldom. Not when Raijin had gone off to fight in Centra Ruins and , ironically had returned to Balamb a partial cripple from a bullet lodged in his spine.

No, Seifer had not even thought of the bold-hearted woman again until the girl today reminded him, with her connection with King Cid, the elusive perfume of lilies, and her unseemly spirit, which said "I will not accept the world the way it is."

** Chapter One: Scene 4**

The spell was broken. Seifer released his breath. "What did my brother find in this dreary place to make him happy?"

Irvine, clearly half listening, squinted into the spyglass. "Some people find peace in simplicity. Good heavens, the young woman has taken up the oar. How strange.."

"Not that strange," Seifer said "Oarswoman are common enough on this island."

"I don't mean that my lord. It's this---" Irvine lowered the spyglass, looking baffled. "There seems to be a small radius around her boat that is immune to the storm."

"What?" disbelieving, Seifer pried the spyglass from Irvine. "Let me see."

He narrowed his eyes. From a distance it did appear as if the waves she encountered fell calm while the sea behind her small boat boiled wild and angry.

"It is an illusion of light upon the water." he said at last. "Look, the rain has stopped. The wind is dying." skyward to the perfect rainbow that had just materialized from the bruised clouds above Quistis' boat.

On the causeway below, the servants were clapping and hugging one another in wonder.

Seifer shook his head. "One would think they had never seen a rainbow in their lives."

"There are other rather unusual phenomena associated with the young woman my lord,"

"Aside from fondness for besieging castles?"

"It seems the rare lady's-fan lily, so highly priced by botanists and flower vendors on the mainland, is in bloom for the first time in more than a decade."

"You, Irvine, believing this nonsense?"

"Not really, my lord."

The two men stood in silence until the rainbow faded from the sky. Quistis' boat had also disappeared behind the cliffs.

"I have wasted enough time today," Seifer said. "Laguna intends to take possession of the island at the end of the month, and I have only begun to pack Raijin's personal possessions."

"The staff is afraid they'll be let go when the President arrives, my lord."

Seifer frowned. "I suppose we might try to place them on the mainland."

"but not the entire island," Irvine added as Seifer took a step toward the tower door. "That was why she came here today."

"Excuse me, Irvine. Did you want to add something to the annals of the remarkable Miss Trepe? Did she rise from a seashell while my back was turned?"

The manservant looked embarrassed. "Not that I noticed. However, I did neglect to warn you about the raven that has been seen haunting tha cliffs since her return."

"A raven?"

"It appears only to alert the islanders of impending danger." Irvine said. "The bird has led a mother to a child stranded on the rocks at high tide, and warned a fishing boat away from one of the lethal undertows that encircle the isle."

"Coincidence." 

"The islander believe it is the spirit of King Cid in the form of a raven, appearing to save Balamb from a dire fate."

Seifer laughed. "The dire fate appearing in the form of me, I presume."

Irvine smoothed his sideburns. "The natives claim that Miss Trepe's entire family is endowed with mystical power."

"Ravens," Seifer said. "Rainbows, rare lilies. Send the housekeeper into the library with a pot of strong coffee. The sooner we leave this island, the better. I do not like the influence it has had on you."

Selphie: Cut! Okay that was a great shot! (looks at her watch) oh..I think it's time for a break. OKAY! BREAKTIME GUYS!! 

(They all went to the nearest resting place, the truck!)

Quistis: That was quite a scene…huh Seifer? I bet your tongue was tied up. That was indeed a long script!

Seifer: Yeah! Hyne, if only you knew, many sleepless nights..just to memorize those lines!

(They all laugh out loud)

Rinoa: Anyway, at least you got the best part in the movie right? (smiling at Seifer)

Zell: That was quite a role man! I prefer to have your part than mine. 

Irvine: Mine is worst! I have to call Seifer always as "my lord" imagine that! (frowning)

Selphie: Oh c'mon Irvy. Actually you did well on your part. 

Quistis: Best yet infact! (smiling at Irvine)

Irvine: sighs..

Squall: I didn't know you acted so well Quistis. I mean, it was rather so natural for you to act. 

Quistis: (slight embarrassed) oh..thank you. You act good as well you know. 

Rinoa: You know I kinda feel worried about my acting skills…I just can't act naturally.

Selphie: Actually…you don't have to worry Rinoa. I can see that you're not having a hard time playing your part.

Rinoa: You think so?

Irvine: I think we should have gone off to workshops before we do such things as this.

Seifer: (pulling Quistis closer to him) It doesn't matter anyway, as long as Quistis will be my leading lady, I'll do anything. 

Quistis: yeah right….(smiling to herself)

Selphie: All I know is, this movie with be a blockbuster hit! tee hee..


	2. The Lady and the Artist

Title: Island of Balamb

Author/s: Lord Seifer III and the_[a]colyte

Editor: the_[a]colyte

Disclaimer: We do not own Final Fantasy 8 nor its characters as well so don't sue us! :)

Warning: Rating may increase on the later chapters.

***Authors notes***

Lord Seifer III – we would like to inform you, that the last part would be eliminated…err..is that the right term

the-acolyte – uh..your hopeless…anyway, as what he had said, the last part would be "eliminated" due to unexpected circumstances…meaning…

Lord Seifer III – its because we can't think of any ideas how to continue it

The-acolyte – there he said it…I told you! Its juz a waste of time yah know

Lord Seifer III – yah..yah..its my fault all right. Sorry

The-acolyte – yah right..

Lord Seifer III – sorry..

The-acolyte – ok ok

Lord Seifer III – sorry sorry sorry…

The-acolyte – ALL RIGHT ALREADY!! IM NOT DEAF!!

Lord Seifer III – ok guyz juz enjoy your reading :)

____________________________________________________________________________

**Chapter Two:Scene 1**

**The Lady and the Artist**

Farmhouse 

Although it was still early in the afternoon, candlelight glowed throughout the spacious granite farmhouse, a cozy shelter from the frequent storms that struck Balamb. Quistis settled into the huge horsehair sofa between the half-dozen cats that had started mysteriously appearing at her door the week of her return.

She saw nothing odd in this; the life of Quistis and her sisters had been highlighted with so many inexplicable events that the three of them had almost come to terms with their peculiarity. After all, their mother, dead thirteen years ago, had been renowned on the island for her healing powers. As for Quistis' father, well, one had only to look around his house to see evidence of a dedicated eccentric.

The housemaid could barely dust for all the artifacts and bits of ancient relics her father had collected. The talking stones by the door that, in Quistis' memory, had never said a word. The shrunken head of the Malay shaman above the kitchen sink that gave everyone a fright. The crystal-encrusted circlet that was believed to have belonged to Lady Edea and to which Quistis had formed a close attachment; she couldn't bear to part with any of her father's treasures, not with him gone only fourteen months, now. She missed him so much.

No Trepe had ever fit well into society, which was why after one year of living in Deling with Squall, the pair of them had escaped back to Balamb.

They both pretended that the research needed to finish her father's work was what had lured them home. The truth was, they had been _ dying_ in Deling, friendless and without funds.

For the first time since her return, Quistis wondered if she had made a mistake. She thumped her stockinged feet on the tapestries footstool and stared out at the misty coastline.

From a practical standpoint, the island supported more than one hundred people who depended on fishing and flower growing for there existence. This Eden would all come to an end when the President took possession. He had already ordered plots of land cleared for the hunting lodge he planned to build. Precious bulbs had been trampled by the carts of uncaring workmen.

All of which the Earl of Almasy could stop with a snap of his elegant fingers. Yet he chose not to.

"There wasn't an ounce of courtesy in the monster. Not one quality one would hope for in a knight." She wiggled her toes for emphasis. "I don't know why you asked to sketch him, Zell, you traitor."

The young artist smiled faintly, his blonde head bent over his sketchbook. He sat by the window to catch the dying light of the afternoon. His fingers moved nimbly even as he spoke. "He had the most magnificent face, Quistis. That jaw could have been carved from granite."

"His heart as well.." she said slowly.

"I could almost see the suppressed passion running in his veins."

"That was the ice water beneath a frozen pond," she said.

"And the emotions smoldering in his eyes," Zell said, shaking his head in admiration.

"Greed?" Qistis suggested. "Impatience? Oh." She gently removed the cat from her lap, rising from the sofa. "What on earth are you drawing now?"

He smiled, not looking up.

Quistis had known Zell for almost eight years now. She remembered the very day he'd approached her father in the street, a milliner's sweep-up boy, and had begged for a chance to illustrate Sir Alfred's book on the origins of King Cid.

At first, her father had laughed. But Zell had persisted, pushing his pictures under their door, following them to parties. And in the end, her father had been impressed by his talent and how seriously Zell took his own art—even to the point of practically abandoning his young bride of only a year to finish this last book. 

At times Quistis almost felt sorry for the poor woman. Zell had been enchanted with his bride at first, drawing endless sketches of her, but now hardly mentioned her name.

Then he had lost the commission for the painting contest. Her father died, and Zell, in a moody depression that worried Quistis, had insisted on coming to Balamb to help her finish this last work.

"Your father have befriended me," he told her. "I must return the favor."

She gasped now as she peered over his shoulder. He was working on a rough sketch of a maiden in medieval clothing embracing a fallen warrior. The drawing itself was lovely, and she was accustomed to Zell using her as a model for his work. But the horror of it was that he had depicted Seifer as the wounded knight.

She felt an unexpected shock of pleasure at seeing herself locked in Seifer's passionate embrace. For a heady moment she experienced all the intense emotions Zell had managed to convey between the maiden and the wounded knight. Strong flurries of sensation burst inside her, weakening her before she pulled away.

Yes, Seifer was handsome in that dark way so dangerous to women, but how fanciful of Zell to sketch him with that look of loyal gratitude.

"That is the most awful thing you have ever done, Zell. Terrible. What were you thinking?"

He shrugged. "I liked the look of him. I'm going to use him as the inspiration for Sir Vincent and the Silver Knight."

"Are you mad?" she said in disbelief. "Bad enough that you played flatterer to Almasy this morning, but to turn around and paint him a hero while he's selling Balamb as an aristocrat's playground---"

"You might have tried a more tactful approach and a little flattery yourself," Squall said from his corner chair. "How many times have I told you that most gentlemen do not appreciate total honesty in a young woman?"

"Zell," she said, ignoring Squall's remark, "I absolutely forbid you to use that picture in father's book."

"Your father allowed me artistic license, Quistis." He said curtly.

"License, not lunacy."

"It's Almasy you're angry with, anyway," Squall pointed out. "Not Zell."

"Oh I give up." She sank back down onto the sofa, tugging a handful of pins from her hair so it fell in a commotion of golden hair to her back. The cats started to play with it, pulling the wavy ends until she shook herself free.

"You can't give up miss," a worried voice said from the door. "You're the island's good luck charm."

The speaker was Selphie Tilmitt, a good friend of Squall, bringing in a tray of tea and bread.

Together with nearly everyone else on Balamb, Selphie's great-grandmother, Raine Loire, belived that Quistis' return was preordained to save the island. No one understood that she had come home only to finish her father's book on the Legends of Sephiroth. 

Still, she couldn't sit by and watch her childhood friends evicted from their homes.

Quistis and her two sisters had lived on Balamb with their parents until her father had taken it into his head to travel the world on a quest for mystical secrets. 

Their mother had been the one the islanders had turned to for help in troubled times; from the letters Quistis received from her sisters, both residing with elderly aunts, all three of them had apparently inherited their mother's penchant for taking up lost causes.

"I failed miserably," she said, shaking her head. "The man's mind is made up."

"But his brother was such a gentle soul," Sephie said as she cleared the table to make room for her tray. "He adored the island."

Quistis sighed. "He and Almasy could not be more unlike, it seems. I don't know what to do."

"Everyone is counting on you, Quistis," Selphie whispered. "The pellar is offering to help, but at a price no one can pay, so we're all believing in you. Many's the folk only alive today because of your mothers power."

Quistis stared into fire, her thoughts in turmoil. The most evil man she knew, possibly next to Seifer, was Martine, the island's pellar, a self-proclaimed warlock who took Quistis' return as a personal threat to his power. 

Martine sold fruitless and ill wishes for a living; he had appeared on Balamb the day of her mothers death, like a toadstool that sprang up when the sun vanished behind the clouds.

"If the people turn to the pellar," Selphie said softly, "there's no telling what evil the man will wreak upon us. You're going to have to take him on, Quistis, both him and Lord Almasy, if this island is to be saved."

____________________________________________________________________________

**Chapter Two: Scene 2**

Less than three hours later, Quistis was bracing herself for another battle with evil. The pellar lived on the dark side of the island on Fire Cavern, where lilies never grew. 

Plants of evil association flourished in his garden. A one-eyed crow sat on the cottage windowsill, watching Quistis approach with malice. She paused, wondering why she, of all people, had been chosen to take up the island's cause. She didn't feel brave or hopeful of a good outcome against the all-powerful Almasy.

She felt desperate.

"Come on," she whispered over her shoulder to the white cat that had followed her, but the animal refused to come any farther. Quistis could see the creature pacing before the gate, its back arched in displeasure. Her pony waited in the shadows of the wind-stunned yew woods.

"at least keep me company," she whispered to the cat.

"You desire company, Quistis?" Dear child, you need only to ask—to link your untapped powers with mine. Well, we could conquer the world."

She grimaced at the irritating voice in her ear. 

Turning slowly, she looked up into Martine's grinning face and felt a chill go down her spine. His prematurely blonde hair sprouted like wings from his head. Mystical symbol in red silk adorned his short purple cape, and he wore a moon-stone pendant with a matching ring. 

He brought her hand to his lips. "To what do I owe this honor, young enchantress?"

She snatched her hand away as his lips brushed her skin. Quistis despised his dealings with darkness; the atmosphere of evil even in his garden made her soul cringe. "Isn't it obvious? I am desperate."

He stroked his chin, guiding her down the garden path to a stone bench. "You did not charm the beast Almasy?"

She sat as far away from him as possible. "You know?"

"My dear, I know everything, which is, of course, why you have come to me today. You need my supernatural wisdom."

"It is your island too, Martine. You have as much to lose as the others."

He glance at his crude granite cottage. "Do you think so?"

"Surely you don't believe the president will allow a ninnyhammer warlock to squat on his land?"

Martine's high forehead wrinkled in a frown. "I had thought I might become his personal adviser. I—"

"Don't be an idiot," she said. "A man of his position isn't going to associate with a lowly nodcock like you."

"Insults will hardly buy my assistance, Quinie."

He blinked.

"Quistis, I meant. Ever since that illustration of you as the enchantress, I cannot help thinking of you as she."

Quistis sighed. Zell had immortalized her with his illustrations, and her dubious fame as an ancient Sorceress had hardly helped her find a respectable place in society.

"What am I going to do, Martine? Almasy is the coldest man I've ever met."

"Go back to him in person."

"No—he was hideously rude, to all of us. He wouldn't receive me anyway."

His pale eyes glinted as he drew a black velvet pouch from his pocket.

"Burn this in his presence, and his mind will open to whatever you suggest." 

She stared down at the pouch in distaste. "What is or shouldn't I ask?"

"That is my secret. Know only that it is powerful enough to make him yours."

"Make him mine?" she said in horror. "I don't want Almasy—I want him to leave Balamb, that's all."

His lips flattened in irritation. "Charms do not come in specific little packages. Shall we discuss my fee?"

"What fee?"

"You will spend Midsummer Night alone with me in my cottage."

She jumped to her feet. "Oh, Martine, you are disgusting! As if I would sell my body for a pack of twigs that probably won't work anyway."

He stood beside her and gave her a bonk on the head.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"Did I say it was your body I desired?"

She took a step back, noticing a sleek white shape sitting on the path. The cat had followed her and was sniffing the dank pool at the bottom of the garden.

"Don't drink!" she cried. "The water is probably poisoned!"

Martine grinned. "How thoughtful of you to bring a present, Quistis. My stock of cat's eyes is almost depleted."

She grabbed the black velvet pouch and threw it in his face. "I should have known better than to come here. You are repugnant, Martine."

"Just remember that we need each other," he said, smiling faintly. "Even a rainbow cannot exist without a storm."

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